


We Merry Band of Misfits

by Mr_Skurleton



Series: Just for Now, Just a Moment with You [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angsty fenris, Bisexual Male Character, Brooding, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hawke is a flirt, Hawke is a pansexual disaster, Hawke's a mother hen, Hawke's an idiot, Jealousy, Loss, Love Bites, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pansexual Character, Poor Kirkwall, Pouting, Surprise Kissing, Unrequited Love, Varric is best bro, everyone is a mess, heart ache, poor Aveline, what even are tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16494731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Skurleton/pseuds/Mr_Skurleton
Summary: Kirkwall’s champion looked thoughtful at that, following the line of distant soldiers as they patrolled. “Honestly  I can’t really think of a time when something wasn’t exploding or bleeding or on fire. Hell, hang around with my friends long enough and you’re likely to see all three at once.” Some distant memory brought a slight smirk to his face  as he said more quietly, “but if you can’t find the time to enjoy life, then you make it for yourself. I’m not sure people like us can do much else.”





	1. On the House

A pleasant night thick with summertime heat rising from chalk white stone and completed by five blood splattered figures standing in the shadowed entrance way of one of Hightown’s mansions. Beyond that door lay countless derelict rooms filled to the brim with broken furniture and fresh corpses. Hawke would lose no sleep over it, a slaver’s worth would only ever be found in feeding the scavengers and he was only too happy to help them fulfill that purpose.

Course that had been the straightforward part... well sort of. Perhaps ‘easy’ was a better if not quite accurate word. Yeah, Anso had lied to them, that had been obvious within a moment of the dwarf speaking. So what? If it meant offing a few more slavers then that was pay enough for Hawke, but like all other facets of his life, nothing was ever that simple.

Shale grey eyes in a tan face and an easy smile on his lips. Hawke’s tried and true mask, slipping at the corners when confronted by open hatred that tasted oh so familiar. Apostate. Mage. Maleficar in waiting.  
A lyrium lined warrior staring him down and hissing accusations punctuated with what would only ever be growls of disdain. Nevermind the offered help, the bait and switch that led to this moon drenched moment in a hushed Hightown square. No, that hatred was keen from years of sharpening. No blade could ever hold so fine an edge as what Fenris was brandishing in his words alone.  
What did he want from Hawke exactly? An apology for being born? Should he take a knee and wring his hands? Not a fucking chance. 

“Oh good, another ass. Welp, I can see you’ve got a lecture all prepared so let me have it.” Hawke could just catch Varric’s swift inhale from his right and Carver’s groan from over his shoulder but neither stopped him from digging himself a deeper grave. “But just so you know, I’m going to stare at you luridly while you talk so if you’d be so kind... make it a long one.”

You could almost hear the seconds pass. It was a peculiar feeling, like being pinned to a wall but not quite trapped, that this elf was managing to put Hawke’s pulse in his throat with just a look… well Hawke didn’t quite know what to think about that. Add it to an already long list for the evening’s affairs. 

The tension broke with an abrupt laugh that was swiftly covered by a cough.  
“At least you speak your mind. I won’t fault you that.” Fenris straightened enough that they were as close to eye level with one another as it was possible to be, “So tell me, what kind of mage are you?” A pointed question. Pointed being the best descriptor for the elf in front of Hawke. Sharp features, a gaze cutting into the quick of him with shades of jaded green, literal spikes coming off his shoulders. The only soft thing about him seemed to be his hair, all feathery and wisping about high cheekbones and stern brows. 

“What kind of question even is tha..” Surprising to those who knew him, Anders had remained quiet for the exchange up to this point. Exhaustion at having to patch up your reckless allies will do that to you. Hawke cut him off with a raised hand. 

“The charming kind of course.”

“There is no such thing.” Fenris’ derisive snort was tinged with something inbetween disbelief and amusement. 

“No? There isn’t any roguish, possibly dashing apostates running around here who would risk life, limb and templar wrath to help a man fighting for his freedom against shade and slaver alike?”

“You forgot the bit about sprinting all the way from the alienage, after being given the runaround, oh and then headlong into a house trapped to oblivion with nothing but a single elf’s word to go off of.” Varric interjected with arms crossed and head shaking, always such a helpful dwarf.

A sigh then, the broodiest sigh ever exhaled into the night air. So tired, so frustrated, so angsty. “I must seem ungrateful.”  
“ ‘Seem’ isn’t the word I’d use kid.” Varric muttered just low enough for implied politeness.

Fenris chose not to comment on that, pretended he couldn’t hear it even as he took a few slow steps in Hawke’s direction. It was difficult to keep hostility from etching itself into his movements, to keep from bristling at the idea of willinging walking this close to yet another mage. But he managed, coin purse hefted in one gauntlet clad hand. A purse which he intended to place in Hawke’s own palm and not into that smirking face. Tempting as the latter was.  
“Here, what coin I have is yours. And I am grateful for your aid even if we did not face Danarius himself.”

But the smirk only widened, a full on grin that turned Hawke’s otherwise angular features into an expression of boyish cheek. “Nope, no charge for this one. Consider it on the house.” Hawke pulled his patchwork coat tighter around himself and shrugged at the look Fenris now leveled at him. “What?”  
“I… you… why?”  
“Because.”  
“You are a very strange human.”  
“Nah just a thirsty one,” he gave Varric’s shoulder a nudge. Subtle Hawke, real subtle. “Come on Carver, if we hurry we can grab a drink before mother throws a hissy fit.”

“Like she isn’t going to have kittens already. I look like I fell asleep in a slaughterhouse.” ‘Little Hawke’ was still watching the glowing elf standing a little too close to his brother with a scowl all his own. He was pretty sure he could get his broadsword unsheathed and between the two of them if need be. But could he move faster than a lyrium marked fist? 

“Well we could dunk you in the harbor if that helps.” Hawke’s attention lazily flitted over Anders who was cover mostly in their blood and not the slavers, Varric whose boots had suffered the worse and finally his own heavily worn trousers, coat and scuffed boots covered in a fine layer of ash. Even the crimson sash he wore as a belt had been tinged grey by the remnants of some shade. But they’d looked far worse over far less so he couldn’t complain much.

“I owe you something for this.” Fenris cut through Hawke’s wandering mind with an effortless verbal slice. “If not coin, then what?”

Another shrug, like Hawke couldn’t get his shoulders to settle. Or maybe seeing the stiffness of Fenris’ shoulders gave his own sympathy pains. “You could buy me a drink if you’re really set on this ‘owing’ me business. I certainly won’t say no at least. Unless it’s butterbile, even I have some standards.”

Fenris glowered, as if the narrowing of his eyes would make the same sound as his lips forming the words ‘I am not amused by your joking.’ …. ‘Mage’.

“Or don’t... fine, up to you and all that.” Hawke skirted around him, having enough sense as to not so much as let their clothing come into contact. “Well, take care then. And give us a shout if you need us.”

And he left. Strange human indeed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Two weeks passed before Fenris took it upon himself to track Hawke and company down. They were not difficult to find. In fact he wondered why they didn’t take that final step and post a sign outside the Hanged Man to proclaim themselves fully. They’d done just about everything else to make their presence known. 

Inside was a smoke laden, sour smelling, noisy room that managed to be large for a lowtown tavern but every bit as cramped as one might expect such an establishment to be. Rough chairs were crowded around thick and heavily stained tables with no decor to speak of beyond dirt and empty bottles. So many unwashed bodies sandwiched against each other on low slung benches or half toppled off of them as was often the case, made walking something of a chore. 

He found the man in question in the center of it, laughing at something Fenris hadn’t been in time to hear.  
“Bullshit Isabela, nobody sober thinks ‘scintillating biscuit’ is a good…” He stopped short when he caught sight of the not currently glowing elf hovering just beyond the circle of conversation. “Ah Fenris! Come to take me up on that offer of drinks I see. Well pull up a seat already.”

“Should I be surprised you remember my name?” That came out more suspicious than he’d intended and he slid into an open seat across from Hawke with a touch more grace. What was he even doing here? This was a mistake. 

“Hardly. I’m excellent with names, particularly ones attached to attractive faces.” That lopsided grin was back of course, matched only by the devious curl of lip worn by the woman to Hawke’s left. He shouted to the closest server, a scowling woman with a messy bun and clipped words. She passed them fresh mugs, Hawke passed her coppers, it was all quite routine.  
“So introductions then?” Hawke didn’t have the patience for his little band to give their names themselves of course. “Fenris, this jewel of the sea to my left is Isabe…” A sharp elbow in the ribs made Hawke wince yet chuckle, “fine, Captain Isabela. You’ve already met Varric,” the Dwarf in question was shuffling a deck of cards and merely nodded as his name was given, “and my brother Carver.”  
Now that he could see them both in better lighting and not covered in the remnants of a scrap, Fenris could see traces of resemblance. Carver was a touch paler than his brother and longer in the face, the set of his eyes betraying a certain air of melancholy as he glowered over the rim of his mug.  
“And the sultry fellow to my right is Anders.”

“I was there when you met him, Hawke.” Yes, Fenris remembered the blonde from that first night. Another mage if memory served, with a quick mouth and shadows under his eyes. “Not exactly pleasant if you remember.” 

Hawke let the comment and the implication roll right past without acknowledgment, his focus decidedly elsewhere. “So, just here for the watered down ale or did you need something?” At least he was quick to the point. 

“I still owe you, I thought we might discuss repayment.” Fenris tested the contents of his own glass and grimaced, having had a magister’s wine cellar to pilfer the last two weeks had spoiled him it seemed. Or the Hanged Man really did water down their drinks. 

“Ooooh a debt?” Isabela purred, caressing the corner of her bottom lip with a nail tip. “What kind of debt? The shiny kind or the half dressed kind?” 

“What even… you can tell me about it later. But no, he doesn’t owe me anything.” More directly Hawke reiterated, “I mean it, Fenris. And if they come around again I’ll be happy to bust more heads with you. Could probably get Aveline to lend a hand too, when she’s not too busy training to be guard captain.”

Fenris was on the verge of arguing with the stubborn man when another, rougher voice cut in.  
“You know we could always use another sword arm, Hawke.” Varric had finished shuffling and was passing around the next hand of wicked grace. To Fenris’ surprise he’d been dealt in without even being asked. The dwarf did not look at him as he spoke, keeping his tone light and his posture casual behind the spill of his cards. “And weren’t you planning to traipse up Sundermount tomorrow? Might be useful to have an elf along if you’re going to tangle with the dalish. I hear they shoot first when it comes to humans.” 

“I suppose…” A sleek black brow had quirked upon Hawke’s face, his gaze shifting from Varric to Fenris several times until finally asking, “I mean if you’re willing?”

“I have had no dealings with the dalish before.” Fenris was quick to point out. But upon realizing what Varric was actually proposing he added, “However, if another blade is required then I shall lend mine.” 

“It isn’t.” This from Carver, barely a whisper and said to no one in particular. The elder Hawke rolled his eyes and within a second Carver swore and was rubbing at a now sore shin. 

Conversation and mood took a moment to recover before falling back into pleasurable territory. It was odd, Fenris hadn’t intended to stay longer than a handful of moments, just long enough to talk to Hawke and then back to his decrepit mansion. But the hours stretched on and even though he spoke only when addressed, he found a sort of pleasant lull in listening to the others. It was there that he learned of the planned expedition to the Deep Roads and the reason behind it. All the more baffling that Hawke had turned down his coin. Irritating if he thought about it too much. Trust a mage to be so foolish.

When all was said and done, or rather, when Carver finally stormed off in a huff and Hawke left hot on his heels, Fenris bid the rest of the group farewell. With the promise of his debt soon to be repaid he would hopefully sleep easier tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

"So you're staying?" Hawke cursed his own stumbling tongue and jammed his hands in his pockets. "In Kirkwall I mean." It was late, Fenris' claimed mansion as tense as a held breath and cavernous in that midnight hour. why couldn't they ever have these conversations in the afternoon? In the light of a Free March sun with a sea-salted breeze stirring otherwise stale city air? Maybe then he wouldn't feel like some intruder, sneaking thinly veiled glances into those jaded green eyes.

"I am tired of running, if Danarius wishes to reclaim his mansion he is welcome to try." Fenris' smile was mostly sneer, his gaze sliding to the side and upon some memory or thought that made his hackles rise. Despite the hour and the location, he was still dressed in full armor with the flat of his broadsword resting across his knees. How often did he spend his nights sitting just like that? With an eye trained on the bedroom door, candles burning low in their nests of discarded wax and nothing but the creak of an aging house to punctuate the silence? How could he stand it?

"Good." Hawke took a breath and shook himself. He was leaning next to the fireplace, letting the greedy flame feed off of his nervous energy as subtly as possible. For the best really, magic without an outlet was like trying to catch the wind in a jar. He stole another look at the seemingly calm elf and felt his mind leap at the chance to wander.

Tired was not the word Hawke would have used to describe the warrior sitting like so much barely contained violence in a worn wingback chair. Handsome came to mind often, he'd catch himself watching the tilt of Fenris' head, the latent power of a still hand, the shimmer of noonday sun down ebony cloth as it twisted around Fenris' waist and Hawke would find his own stomach in knots. Dangerous would have been the wise choice, he'd seen enough gaping chests in that first week of traveling with the elf to know his own rib cage would prove no barrier should Fenris turn a glowing gauntlet his way. And it was clear his hatred of magic ran more than skin deep, with good reason from what Hawke had learned of Fenris' past. But the elf himself had put it best that night after they'd returned from Sundermount, 'A tempting offer.' one to be considered.

Of course Fenris had been talking about potentially venturing into the Deep Roads with Bartrand's expedition alongside Hawk and not those unbidden thoughts that pressed in the dark places of Hawke's mind. Hell, if Fenris knew of them they probably wouldn't be talking right now, and Hawke probably wouldn't still be breathing. But what was a little wanton lust so long as he kept it to himself? He could flirt with temptation couldn't he? So long as the only thing he touched Fenris with was his gaze? And it wasn't as if the warrior seemed to mind the flirting. Or at least hadn't demanded that Hawke stop.

"You are very strange for a mage." It was only the sudden breaking of it that alerted Hawke to the silence they had slipped into, so content to watch and be watched he had forgotten to say anything.

"Mmhm" was Hawke's only response. 'Mage' would always be a four letter word in Fenris' mouth. Most nights Hawke could smile past it, others he could only bite into it and swallow the bitterness down.

"Most I know wouldn't turn over one of their own. Especially after rescuing them from slavers."

Not an accusation for once, or if it was then Hawke couldn't hear it. But at least he had some context for what Fenris was referring to.

It had taken a day to track Feynriel down, and an hour to scrub the remnant's of Tevinter slavers from Hawke's short black hair. Normally Hawke was spared much of the spatter, his talents lie in trapping enemies so they were easy prey for those with swords. Between Carver and himself it was damn near routine, Hawke turning the earth until it swallowed an opponent's feet or paralysing them with a word and air drawn rune before Carver would sweep in with a downward slice that separated heads from shoulders. No flashy fireballs or arcing lightning, nothing that might be seen and reported to the Templars. Those were hard lessons he'd learned even before he knew how to write his own name, but sometimes a plan goes awry and he finds himself standing between a huddled boy and a monster. And then there is no time to fret about being turned in, no seconds to spend wringing hands or trying to accomplish with a small blade what a gout of flame can do far more efficiently.

"Not much of a choice there," Hawke muttered through clenched teeth. "Trapped in the Gallows or being hounded by demons until the day he snaps and submits. What a bright future for a child whose only crime was being born."

He could see Fenris open his mouth to comment and then shut it again, rethinking what words he'd been on the verge of saying. Hawke didn't much care what he'd been about to blurt out, there wasn't a whole lot Fenris said about mages that Hawke hadn't already heard. Eventually Fenris found his words again.

"Still, you seem more practical than most."

"Yeah well, what can I say? Practical mage, Gideon Hawke, at your service."

* * *

It was the first time Fenris had heard Hawke's first name, so easy was it to fall into the patterns of the others that circled the man and not question why they existed. He wasn't sure what to do with it, nor why it seemed like a larger piece of a whole he had yet to see. He returned to sharpening his blade, running the whet stone in smooth strokes down a well maintained edge.

But the air remained unsteady, thick with molding dust and a taste of something yet named. Hawke's shoulders eventually loosened, his bare hands sliding from pockets and his spine straightening. He moved too quietly for Fenris' liking. He prefered mages be loud and blustering like the abomination that Hawke was so oft in the company of or obvious like the foolish Dalish maleficar Hawke had stupidly agreed to look after. But silent men with easy smiles and a knack for getting under his skin? It was unsettling at best.

When Hawke pushed away from the mantle and came close to Fenris' claimed perch it was with his hands out where Fenris could see them. Funny how the elf had never once asked for this, as if it was something Hawke thought would ease his mistrust.

"Listen, I've got a job down on the docks tomorrow night that I could use a hand with." Hawke was one sidelong glance away from shuffling his feet like some awkward youth, it was almost amusing. "It's for an old… associate of mine. Not exactly legal but the pay is good."

"From your smuggling days I presume." It was a flat statement but Hawke flinched like Fenris had struck him.

"Yeah… yeah it is…" He was running his fingers through his short hair, almost pulling on it. "I'm not thrilled but I don't have a lot of options. Taking bounties from Aveline is more noble and all but brushing with the guard isn't far from brushing with the templars…"

"Yes, wouldn't want to put yourself in the circle, at least not until you're dangerously close to becoming an abomination." He did not regret saying it, but he braced for the backlash it was sure to provoke.

Hawke said nothing, having gone utterly still with the light of a dying fire at his back. He exhaled without anger, the fire died, and Hawke turned on a heel. It took six seconds for him to reach the door to the bedroom, he shut it behind him with a soft click. Two minutes until Fenris heard the front door creak open, another two before he heard it close again. He shoved the blade from his lap and slung the whet stone across the room where it skittered across the frayed carpet and bounced off a wall. He felt a growl in his throat and smothered it down while his thumb and forefinger rubbed at his eyes.

* * *

The next night crept into the second floor window of a decrepit mansion with long fingers. The sun had long since dipped below the rise of the surrounding buildings and only a ghost of street lamp light intruded on the solitude of one white haired elf pacing ruts into the carpet.

Fists clenching and unclenching, his angular jaw tilting this way and that while his mind jerked between thoughts one right after the other and always worse than the last. The inside of Fenris' cheek was raw from falling prey to worrying teeth and an unfamiliar twinge of guilt had taken root in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't his problem. It would be his fault if anything happened. He didn't even know where to start. He couldn't have been the only one Hawke asked. He owed the man. It was foolish but he had to make sure.

Mind made up yet still racing and with the comforting weight of his weapon strapped along his back, Fenris took the steps from his room two at a time. His long loping stride devoured the distance from bedroom door to front door with the hunger of the starved. His own stomach growled at having being ignored all day but he continued to focus on his now singular goal.

Hightown's night air was pleasant but held the bite of incoming autumn, never fully warm so long as a breeze was winding up the streets off the harbor. He shied past guards with ease, having memorized their patrols with no small help from their own soon to be captain. Down stairs that led past many an empty market stall and those still lingering in shadowed corners of a hushed market square he moved as just another silent spectre.

It took longer than he wanted to reach the harbor, the creak of great ships and sting of salt in his lungs slapping him long before he arrived. The gulls had all taken to roost and the only movement to be seen was the stumbling gait of drunk sailors and weary dock hands shuffling along the quays. He hurried past warehouses that crowded toward the walkways until they hung overhead competing with each other for every inch of star studded sky. He paid them only a moment's notice, wondering if the job Hawke had mentioned would require an out of sight locale.

The soles of his feet kept slapping the worn stone but his thoughts had stopped as swiftly as if they'd ran headlong into a wall. What was he doing? He had nothing to go off of, no direction and just the urge to move dogging his heels. This was foolish. Hawke was foolish. But he couldn't just turn around.

A sound in the distance yanked hard on his attention, a series of sharp barks punctuated by snapping jaws. Fenris' head jerked up, quick eyes scanning the dark until the bounding shape of a mabari hound shot around a corner. His own lip rose in a snarl, hand grasping the grip of his broadsword without thought. The beast darted forward and stopped just outside the circle of his reach. It growled with shoulders hunched and its body slung low to the ground, a thick tongue curling between bared incisors was a flick of crimson between white teeth and black glistening gums.

It was wary of him, tasting the air and jumping back whenever Fenris so much as tensed a muscle. They stared each other down, his blade as bare and ready as any hound's tooth. It was only a glimpse of red at the dog's throat that made recognition flash through Fenris' mind. Hadn't he seen this mabari before? Asked a certain mage what his obsession with red belts was?

Feeling oddly foolish, Fenris tested his theory. "Biscuit?"

Perked ears, a wagging tail, a bark to the affirmative.

Relief was a small flood to sooth Fenris' nerves that vanished all too soon when Biscuit began barking again in the same agitated way he had before. Another hunch; one he hoped was wrong, crept like a spider inside his mind and he did not sheath his weapon.

"Show me."

* * *

Down an alleyway far from the spill of any street lamp's light, the sounds of a fight echoed off of high walls.

His back to a dead end, Hawke felt unconsciousness pulling at the edges of his mind. His right palm was slick with blood; most of it his, as he kept it clamped over his side. A lucky swipe he told himself, he'd get the bastard back as soon as he could see straight he promised. He almost thanked the pain, keeping his feet moving as instinct clawed back what blood loss and exhaustion were swiftly stealing.

Behind him the terrified squeaks of a child huddled in on itself, arms locked over its head, mouth pressed into a dirty knee to muffle the sound. What was Athenril thinking? No, he couldn't let himself get distracted now. Another coterie thug was testing his luck and Hawke barely kept his own dagger in hand as metal scraped against metal.

Four left, two corpses making their former colleagues pause. It had never been a fair fight but he hadn't been bleeding at the start. Now they hung in a wary ring, blocking escape and waiting for his injuries to make his movements sloppy. But they wouldn't rush him again. Not after that initial ambush. Funny how being thrown back by an invisible force will give you a healthy dose of caution.

Breath burning in his lungs, Hawke kicked out to tangle the legs of the woman in front of him only to feel her blade slice down his forearm knicking bone as he jerked back. The attack was a ruse, a distraction for another, quicker opponent to dart at him from the side. With no time to block, Hawke ducked down and met the man with a shoulder to his chest. It bore them both to the ground in a wild frenzy of limbs, too close for blades to be used with any efficiency as balled fists and sharp elbows became the weapons of choice.

Hawke fought like a barroom brawler, kneeing and biting every piece of the bastard he could. Curses and grunts of pain became a swarming chorus as more bodies joined the fray. Someone's boot stomped down on his knee and his scream drowned out the crunch of the joint. He lashed out and felt satisfaction as knuckles collided with the soft flesh of an eye socket. Such short lived joy dashed as foreign fingers dug into his windpipe. His head smacked once, twice into the pavement beneath it.

* * *

"No you don't." Fenris growled to the night air. The infuriating man beneath him couldn't hear him, the cowering child a few feet away from him had no way to know what he meant and the coterie thugs he'd just cut his way through were more chunks than corpses at this point. He did not care. "I swear I will kill you myself, Hawke. Don't you dare."

As was oft the case, threatening Hawke bore no fruit. The man lay there as still as stone while his hound whined and licked at his motionless hand. Nevermind that Fenris had bound the wound at his side and removed the arrow shaft from his thigh. Nevermind that it was his own damn fault for going alone. He refused to wake just as the pulse beneath Fenris' searching fingers refused to stop fluttering beneath Hawke's skin.

"Fenhedis!" Cursing did not bring Hawke back to the waking world but it made Fenris feel marginally less useless.

Then, a fit of coughing, sputtering groans that left gasping in their wake. Hawke jerked up, collapsed back down, curled on his side and cradled his head. ' _Took you long enough.'_  Fenris thought beneath the rush of relief. He pulled back to give the human room to breathe and smacked his back when the air caught in his lungs.

"Try not to move too much, I'm not sure what all they broke." Fenris cautioned and it was only then that Hawke seemed to register what had transpired and who it was that was kneeling over him.

The elf's name was broken and harsh sounding when it slipped from between Hawke's bloodied lips. But it had been posed as a question so Fenris answered.

"Yes, your hound found me."

Much of Hawke's face was swelling, leaving only one grey eye to regard both Fenris and Biscuit with an unfocused squint. Thoughts slid behind that eye, visible but unknowable until finally Hawke made to sit up. A task he failed at.

Expectantly he held his hand out to the warrior while a pleading grunt took the place of asking. Fenris sighed and felt a mountain of frustration build in the sound. Standing in one smooth motion and lifting Hawke carefully with the next, there were a dozen and one admonishments trying to cram their way out of his mouth. He settled on the shortest one.

"You. Are. Foolish."

Hawke sagged into the circle of arm Fenris had around the other male's waist, any reply swallowed in favor of a pained grunt. His knee wouldn't hold any weight. Just that one attempt to stand on it had perspiration drenching his brow and his body trembling.

"Is he going to be alright?" It was little more than a squeak, a voice caught wavering between a child's falsetto and the tenor adulthood would grant. Fenris' attention snapped back to the child he'd all but forgotten who now stood against the wall rather than curled up at its base.

"Possibly. If not... then it will be his own fault."

Beside him Hawke made a noise that sounded suspiciously like the words 'oh thanks.'

Fenris ignored him.

"If you know of a healer nearby however, then lead the way."

Again Hawke interjected, even with a swollen mouth the man couldn't keep from trying to make smart comments. This time it was a mangled version of 'Anders'.

Another sigh of frustration. "Is there really no one else?"

Hawke shook his head.

"If you insist." Fenris wondered idly why he didn't drop the man and wipe his hands of the whole thing. He knew the answer but he liked to keep it sealed beyond admitted thought. He regarded the child once more, "If you wish, you may accompany us." It wasn't out of pity, merely logic. The boy sported a black eye and numerous cuts along his arms, they looked superficial in the darkness but that didn't mean they shouldn't be tended.

With Biscuit bounding in front of them and Pryce at their heels, the walk to Anders' clinic proved to be a slow one.

* * *

"Maker's blessed balls, Anders," Hawke's newly healed lips were curled in an appreciative smile even as his eyes closed in bliss. "I've never known a man with such wonderful hands."

The aforementioned mage was running blue haloed fingertips through Hawke's hair, concentration only broken by a slight blush the other mage couldn't see. "Well I'd prefer it if you enjoyed them under different circumstances," he muttered mostly to himself before phrasing a more pointed question. "Why didn't you bring me with you tonight?"

"Because you're an abomination?" Fenris had his arms folded across his chest and his eyes swept across Anders as if daring for retort. When all he got was a withering look he rounded on Hawke instead. "But he raises a point. Why were you alone?"

He'd taken a position along a stone wall once Anders had shown him where to sit Hawke down. That was after kicking the door in. His excuse? No hands to knock and no time to waste. Anders would have yelled at him or thrown him back out were it not for the sight of a barely conscious Hawke clinging to his shoulders. As it was, they had all piled into the back of the clinic, past a curtain that separated Anders' living space from the rest of the room.

"Anders, you barely get enough sleep as it is, I wasn't going to haul you out of bed for what should have been a routine run." Hawke answered the first question he'd been posed even as he leaned into the man's healing touch. "As for everyone else? I couldn't find Varric, Isabela was running down some rumor relating to that relic of hers, I couldn't ask Merrill to do it for obvious reasons and there was no bloody way I was going to bring Aveline on a smuggler run."

Hawke had been unceremoniously dropped onto Anders' bed with the healer behind him on the other side of it. Pryce had taken the only chair and was perching in it like an easily startled cat while Biscuit was curled at Hawke's feet making intermittent whining noises. Hawke had tried only once to bend forward so he might pet the dog's head to give him some semblance of reassurance. The resulting burst of stars and pain had nipped that in the bud near instantly.

"What about Carver?" Anders continued to prod verbally amidst giving Hawke curt instructions that had little to do with the concern in his voice. "I need your coat off and your shirt."

On the verge of some flirtatious remark Hawke obliged with no small amount of wincing. Of course a not so polite cough from Fenris reminded Hawke that there was an audience, a small, still shaking audience. For perhaps the first time in his life, Gideon Hawke swallowed his cheeky remark in favor of the more serious topic. "No, my brother spent a year of his life in servitude to Athenril. I wasn't going to bring him into it again. Not just because all the legal jobs are… well, beyond my reach."

There was silence after that, broken only by some sharp inhales once Anders set to the task of healing Hawke's broken ribs.

It couldn't last though. With Anders and Fenris around, peaceful quiet was as fleeting as a snowflake in summer. And as it was so oft to do, it started with a question.

"Why weren't you there?" One hand still on Hawke's bare side, Anders shot both question and edged glare to Fenris. The mage had come around to the other side of the bed at this point, crouching by Hawke's side to better see what he was doing.

Fenris for his part did not move a single muscle, not even his eyes. Those green irises were trained not on Anders but on another mage. One he was perhaps equally irritated with. No, more irritated. Possibly angry at. He had no answer, at least not one he was going to give while there were others in the room. So perhaps it was not surprising that it was Hawke who answered.

"What's done is done Anders, leave it be." And when that earned him a stern twist of lips and Anders' drawn brows he added softly, "please."

Both combatants dropped their eyes and their arguments. Before they could start up again, Hawke swung the conversation elsewhere.

"So, Pryce. Aren't you a little young to be running for Athenril?"

Startled by the sound of his own name, Pryce teetered forward and almost off the chair he sat in. "I'm almost fifteen." It was the defensive snap of a child trying too hard to be an adult. "I can pass for a man… most of the time."

"Mhm."

"I can!"

"I believe you." He clearly didn't, but Hawke wasn't going to argue with a teenager, he got enough of that with Carver. "So what happened tonight? Why was the Coterie there?"

After a bit of coaxing Pryce spilled everything including tears. When he was done and his cheeks were dry once more, Anders gave the lad a glass of water and a blanket to drape across his shoulders. Even healed; for Hawke had insisted Anders see to Pryce's wounds first, the kid looked exhausted and gaunt, worry for his sisters folded into his face and posture.

"Where are your sisters now?" Hawke asked once the sobs had subsided.

"Safe. At least I think so."

"If Fenris goes with you, do you think you could make it back to them?"

If he objected to being volunteered without being asked first, Fenris made no sign of it. Pushing away from the wall with a calloused foot, he looked a touch relieved at finally having something to do beyond standing and brooding.

Pryce took one look at the still gore splattered warrior and grew a touch paler in the face but he nodded all the same.

"Good. Now, do you still have the goods Athenril gave you for the trade with the Carta?"

Another nod and a bit of brightness to Pryce's eyes as they peered in question from his malnourished face.

"Wonderful," responded Hawke and though he was clearly on the last dregs of his strength, he managed a confident smile. "You need to take what Athenril gave you and get you and your sisters out of Kirkwall. Doesn't have to be tonight but it should be soon."

"But… we've got nowhere to go…"

"That's not quite true. It probably seems like it because you've done so much running already but hear me out. There's a lot of farmland further inland. Not far even, and they're always looking for strong lads especially so close to harvest. The stuff Athenril gave you should be enough to buy supplies until you find work. It'll be tough," Hawke wouldn't lie to the kid about that. "But you're the eldest and that means doing the things that you have to keep your family safe."

Pryce seemed to understand this without being told. A breath of determination coming over him and there was a firm set to his jaw as he nodded much more curtly than before.

"I will ser, I'll keep them safe."

"I know you will. Now best be off before Athenril sends someone looking for us."

"You'll keep her from following us?"

It was Fenris who answered this last question, his gauntlet clad fingers clicking as he flexed them against an upturned palm.

"I will rip her heart out if she dares."

Seeing as no one could argue with such a confidently growled statement, Pryce uttered a dozen swift and shaky thank yous before Fenris had managed to usher him out the broken door, Anders' borrowed blanket still wrapped firmly around his shoulders.

"Suppose I should try heading home as well," Hawke tired to say around a yawned once they'd left.

"Not a chance." It was such a forceful command that even though Anders was back standing at his side Hawke still did a double take. Luckily the blonde apostate elaborated. "You suffered a head injury. Or had you forgotten? No way am I letting you walk home. You are staying right here in this bed where I can keep an eye on you."

Left blinking at this abrupt shift in bedside manner, Hawke just stared. For all of two seconds before a most sinister grin split his face.

"Well do I get company then?"

The blanket Anders threw at him hit him square in the face. "Good night Hawke."

"Anders wait." Hawke caught him by the arm, gently of course. Anders eyes flickered blue for the briefest of moments but Hawke didn't step back. "Thank you. I mean it. Void take it I wouldn't be able to stand right now if not for you." And then Hawke did something that should have come as no surprise to anyone who knew him. Though no taller nor broader than Anders himself, Hawke pulled the other mage into a tight hug. It was brief, sexless even, but it was more than Anders had had in a very long time.


End file.
